


What a Splendid World

by Gothmoglordofbalrogs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, It's a post-apocalyptic road trip, Multi, No Beta: We Fall Like Cintra, Post-Apocalypse, Road Trips, Swearing, War, multi-chapter fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothmoglordofbalrogs/pseuds/Gothmoglordofbalrogs
Summary: 2020 was bad, but 2021 isn’t going to be magically better, so let’s go on a post-apocalyptic road trip with lyrics from my favourite music, good quotes, fantastic characters and gratuitous references!
Relationships: Domeric Bolton/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling, Wynafryd Manderly/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be like any other story of Humanity. Light and Dark, Cruel and Hopeful with Sex and Slaughter and War and Peace. This is all very GRRM because he owns all the intellectual property for these characters and the world in which they live. Furthermore I would like to thank everyone who commented and gave Kudos on Tidings of Comfort and Joy! You are all appreciated. Title from Dmitry Glukhovsky’s Metro 2033

“The world needs dreamers to give it a soul”

“And it needs realists to keep it alive”

\- Professor X and Magneto after defeating Apocalypse (X-Men Legends II)

* * *

**The Leader**

  
  
  


Robb was dying, and Jeyne was crying. Domeric pitied the woman, 8 months pregnant, 13 months married and soon to be a widow. Robb, well to Domeric, Robb was his girlfriend's older brother and useful muscle and now, apparently, a friend, but Robb was suffering and eating into their supply of anaesthetic. Which they needed for Jeyne. He considered Robb a friend and you didn’t let your friends suffer and Domeric would give him the gift of mercy, but only if Jeyne asked him to and only then if there were witnesses to her asking, as Sansa would never forgive him. Sansa is a dreamer, always looking to the horizon and even beyond to the very stars themselves, and he loves her for it, but if she was in charge they would all be dead by now. 

Deciding that they deserve some privacy, Domeric steps out from the bus and walks towards the fire pit, where Sansa is trying to teach Bran and Arya how to sew (and not really succeeding, at least with Arya, Bran is devoted even though he struggles) while Ygritte is giving Rickon a piggyback ride and laughing all the while as Jon looks on, ignoring the fish that Ygritte and himself had caught and probably going to let it burn. Not that any of them would complain, Rickon almost certainly would and Arya might, though she knows better but Jeyne simply wouldn’t eat it. Not that she has been eating much lately anyway, too stressed over Robb who is struggling with the infection that is currently killing him. Domeric walks up to Sansa, kisses her on the top of her head, eliciting a smile from his girlfriend, a groan from Bran and a “Yuck!!” from Arya. All Domeric could do to respond to their reactions was by rolling his eyes. He tells Jon to check on the fish and Ygritte smiles at him. “Is Robb gonna be a’right?” Rickon asks, running up to him. Sansa gives him a pleading look, trying to tell him not to admit the truth, as if it would change the reality. Domeric looks to Jon who whispers “Truth”. Sighing, he picks up Rickon and decides to rip off the Band-Aid so to speak (that is another thing we need, his mind “helpfully” supplies). “No Rickon, he won’t be alright, I think you should go with Bran and Arya to say your goodbyes.”

Sansa glared at him as the children left but Jon saves him by interjecting “What are we going to do now Domeric?” He sighed, shaking his head, “Robb is going to die, that is certain. When he does, we need to bury him properly though unfortunately, we won’t be able to bury him at Winterfell seeing that the crypts were all dug up. This is the Barrowlands however, so we will bury him in a barrow and have the best funeral possible, flowers, music and a luncheon. Then we need to go to Rillseat and see my cousin and Grandpa, hopefully in time for Jeyne’s labour, where she can give birth in a sanitary environment and we can have a feast in the name of Robb and his child and resupply our train. Then I think we need to travel south to Storm’s End and go live with your Aunt and hopefully find a place to settle down for good.”

* * *

Domeric found Sansa in their “room” which was really just the right rear corner of the bus that had a “bed” (air mattress which would only fit one of them, so she had it, a sleeping bag and blankets), table, chair and mirror that had been closed off with curtains. Withholding a groan (which would only antagonize her further) he stepped into the view of the mirror and leaned against the wall with his back to the curtain and waited. He knew she saw him but she continued combing her hair. “You know Syanna, that the only way this is going to work is if we talk about things, right?” that earned him a chuckle and a look, before her face fell. 

“ ... I ...I just need to know, why would you do it? If you love me like you claim to, why would you kill my brother?” 

This time, Domeric couldn’t hold back the groan. “Because I love you, and I care for him and I don't want him to suffer.” Sansa opened her mouth, about to cut him off when he interjected “let me finish Sansa, you do not want him to suffer either and he will, he will slowly suffer until he dies in pain. I want to save Robb from that agony and I want to save you from watching him endure that.”

“Really?” she managed between teary hiccups. “Yes.” When she started crying into her hands He stood there awkwardly before deciding he should do something so he walked up to her and took her into his arms. 

**Kissed by Fire**

* * *

Ygritte moaned as Jon finished inside her. Ygritte knew she wouldn’t be pregnant, she isn’t completely stupid (like Jeyne is), she was more then capable of doing basic math, thank you very much. Beneath her, Jon stretched as if he were a cat before settling down with his hands behind his head. Then a scream ripped through the camp. “Jeyne!” they both shouted simultaneously as they pulled apart and dressed as quickly as they could. They rushed out from the trees just in time to see Domeric walk out from the first camper hitched to the back of the bus, that he and Jon had decided was the hospital, grief written plainly on his face, but when he looked up at them, it was gone. Behind them, Sansa walked Jeyne out of the “Hospital” and past them and into the bus. After they had entered the bus, Domeric wiped his eyes, “Robb is dead, he passed in his sleep.” Ygritte could tell that Domeric wasn’t telling them something but didn’t press the issue. “Ygritte, I know this job sucks but someone has to do it and neither Sansa or Jeyne are able to. Robb needs to be cleaned up and dressed. His wedding suit is in the chest at the front of the bus. Jon and I will go dig a grave at the top of that hill, where he can rest in the light, where all people should, and we will take the children with us.” She was about to ask why they weren’t going to bury him in a barrow like they originally planned when Jon beat her to the punch. “Because Jeyne didn’t want us too.” Domeric replied stiffly, fixing her with a glare, to which Ygritte gave a smirk in return. “Now Jon, let’s go.” And so Ygritte consigned herself to preparing the body of a close friend for burial.


	2. Chapter 2

I will rule the universe

I’m the glory, I’m the brave

Going down in history forever

I will rule the universe

I shall crush their sorrows veil

And soon I will be marching into heaven

I’m greater than God

-Civil War: I will Rule the Universe

* * *

**The Tiger**

Of Course the Seven Kingdoms would cause the World to collapse, Malaquo Maegyr thought cynically. The world economy was tied to the Gold Dragon and the monarchy of these savages fucked it up so badly that they brought the whole world down with it. When the Dragon collapsed, all the currencies fell with it, though the Free Cities hadn’t had their entire society collapse into anarchy like these animals had. Which is how he found himself here, freezing his ass off in this accursed tundra, with 145 thousand men from Pentos, Tyrosh, Lys and, of course, Volantis, The Eternal City. 145 thousand men, 2000 tanks, 3050 artillery pieces and, critically, 80 aircraft, with which he could (theoretically) rain death down on his enemies. 

If he could ever get enough fuel for them.

The initial invasion of westeros had went spectacularly well, Syrio Forel led the Braavosi and men from Lorath, Morosh, Norvos and Qohor and seized Blackwater bay, from which they advanced north, as far as the Blackwood Vale before being turned back by the Frey cult. The Braavosi then retreated south of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone. The Southern Occupation and Economic Exploitation Zone (S.O.E.E.Z.) stretched from the Golden Tooth through the riverlands to Crackclaw point and down to the Kingswood south to Bitterbridge. By contrast, the Northern Occupation and Economic Exploitation Zone (N.O.E.E.Z.) stretched from the Last River past long Lake to the edge of the Wolfswood and then down the White Knife. The Sisters were causing him problems, Triston Sunderland and his 5th and eldest surviving son Petyr held the islands together, destroyed several invasion fleets and raided the N.O.E.E.Z. every summer. 

The problem of course was that while Westeros was initially completely devoid of any leadership and chaos reigned throughout the country, the fractured people, like stars and planets forming through the coalescence of gas and dust in nebulae, rallied behind local leadership and strongmen who always tried to establish nations in the form of their choice. His problem was the Self Proclaimed King in The North: Rodrik Ryswell whose upstart kingdom rules all of The North from Blazewater Bay to the White Knife and North to Tumbledown Tower through and including all of the Wolfswood. Malaquo sighed as he looked at the map and was forced to acknowledge that despite his recent offensives his forces had been unable to drive those barbarians west of the King’s Road and out of their entrenched positions on the left bank of the river.

A knock on the door dragged him out of his trance and when he turned around he saw his secretary, Qavo Nogarys standing at attention. “At ease Qavo, what is it?” The tension left Qavo’s shoulders instantly. “A letter from your wife, Ser.” The secretary placed it on the desk and left with a salute once dismissed. He took his letter opener and his face fell as he read the letter. Great, just what he needed.

_ Dear Malaquo, _

_ I don’t wish to trouble you, but this is important. Talisa has run away and taken all her money and clothes with her. Last she was seen she had booked a flight to Dragonstone. She will have arrived by now. You know how she is, all young and stupid, seeking adventure and a new life, at whatever the cost. I hope you can help find her. I know you love her, in your own way. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Daenys Maegyr _

* * *

**The Gilded Colt**

“Elbert, love, we shouldn’t keep your Grandfather waiting.” Elbert Ryswell, Crown Prince of The North, son of Roger Ryswell, Grandson of King Rodrik Ryswell, Husband of the most beautiful woman in the world (in his biased opinion) Wynafryd Manderly-Ryswell and most importantly, father of Roger Wyman Patrek Ryswell, who immediately became the Kings favourite human in existence and who Elbert was pleased to note had inherited his straight red hair. Wyn was already dressed, having fed their son while he had been spaced out. “Of Course, Honey, we wouldn’t want to upset the King.” His wife ( **HIS, WIFE,** saying that would **NEVER** get old) shushed the babe then scoffed, “Please, Elbert, you could stab him and as long as we let him spend the next day with Roger he would forget you ever did it!” that had them both laughing. It was an exaggeration, yes, but probably not much of one. The Kings meals, always held with his powerful vassals and his family were often raucous and crass affairs where wars were planned, horse breeding was mapped out (which stallion would mount which mare), competitions and breed shows were organized, inappropriate stories were told alongside bawdy jokes and unbearable puns and unsubtle innuendos . That had all stopped however, at least at Breakfast ever since grandfather Rodrik had insisted that he see his Great-Grandson (ha! Take that Aerys Targaryen!) at all meals. Lunch Elbert took with his family (HIS!) and dinner was still pretty much as it always was, though now there were RULES.

* * *

“Patrek! For Gods sake, just Fuck the bitch!” Larence Hornwood shouted at Patrek Mallister who had been regaling them all with tales (heavily sanitized though they were) of how he desperately desired Sybelle Glover, the young widowed wife of the co-owner of the Deepwood Lumber Mill. Elbert glanced at Wynafryd just in time to see her startle when King Rodrik shouted after bashing his fist against the table with a thunderous blow “YOU KNOW THE RULES OF MY HOUSE! WHILE HERE YOU WILL ABIDE BY THEM!” Elbert rested his hand on Wyn’s thigh and they shot each other a smile. Together they would get through this mess.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So does anyone ever wonder who you are writing a story for, especially if nobody is reading it? Well, in this case, the answer is for myself. Now, if writing these two chapters have taught me anything, it’s that people with ADHD (such as myself) don’t make particularly good authors. Believe it or not but these two chapters were supposed to be one but in my haste I uploaded (?)published (?) what I had written as chapter 3. Now, I don’t like asking for replies and comments but I am going to anyway so if you few who read this could please do so, it would be deeply appreciated.

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music

Used to make me smile

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver

With every paper I'd deliver

Bad news on the doorstep

I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried

When I read about his widowed bride

Something touched me deep inside

The day the music died

-Don McLean: American Pie, Pt.1

**Kissed by Fire II**

* * *

Ygritte pitied Jeyne but ultimately, she felt that she needed to do something other than sit in her darkest clothing in the darkest room, tearing her clothes, crying then begrudgingly fixing her clothes only to tear them again. She also stopped eating, which is certainly not good for the baby, which is how Ygritte found herself sitting in a triangle in the middle of the bus alongside Jeyne Stark while waiting for Sansa to bring them the food. Ygritte had always liked these moments between the three of them though now they had changed. Previously they would be sitting around, lounging, eating magnificent sweet pastries that were baked by Jeyne, gossiping and joking. Few secrets were kept for long and all were eventually told. Now though, the atmosphere was heavy with grief, tension and secrets.

“Sorry I’m late.” Sansa supplied as she brought in the platter, set it in the middle of the table and then sat down on the chair to her left. Jeyne’s eyes bulged as she looked at the platter. When Ygritte looked up at Sansa, the ginger shot her a grin. The platter was really something that any other day would be their dinner and in a way it was, the lobster and roasted vegetables were their dinner they just weren’t eating the same thing as the rest of them. Sansa had thought up the scheme, knowing that Jeyne loved lobster, she sent Domeric all the way to the Blazewater. When Ygritte had asked in humour how she would manage to convince her boyfriend to abandon them for that long Sansa had just smirked and told her not to worry. Not like it would be difficult, what with Domeric in his angsty, depressed mood. When he was like that it was always easy to manipulate him, offer a shoulder for him to cry on, endure his rants and if, only if, the favour you want is something he wouldn’t like then sex could work, though in Ygritte’s experiance, manipulating a sad Domeric with sex was just as likely to piss him off even more. Ygritte brushed her hand across her stomach, just beneath her waist, where she had borne a bruise the size and shape of his hand after trying. Ygritte smirked, he still did it, though he made it very clear that he did it because he hurt her and that if she tried to have sex with him again, the next time they went hunting he would shoot her. She believed he meant it.

“What are you thinking about?” Ygritte startled. “Oh! Nothing! Nothing at all!” Jeyne gave her a confused look while Sansa’s seemed to ask if Ygritte thought she was completely retarded. “Anyway, what were you two talking about?” Ygritte reached for the platter, half of which was already gone and let Jeyne’s newfound enthusiasm wash over her.

* * *

  
  


**The Leader II**

Domeric knew that Jon thought he killed Robb but he also knew that Sansa and Jeyne knew better. Jeyne, that girl was tougher then she looked and he was sure to never underestimate her again. Ygritte knew better of course, though ever since  _ those nights  _ she had known him far too well for his liking. Domeric shook his head to clear his mind and then kept walking, emerging from the woods with the logs. As he emerged from the trees he saw a view that broke his heart. They were all sitting around the fire eating the stew in silence, no talking, no laughter, nothing. The children weren’t even playing! His family (certainly not the only one he had but the one he had chosen) should be happy dammit! Not that he had any idea how to make them happy.  _ “We are Bolton’s my son, when one of us dies we keep everything inside until we join them. Bury The Woman Domeric, like I buried your brothers.”  _ He threw the logs down at the base of the pile, then rushed inside.

* * *

_ Before The Collapse _

“How was your day?” Domeric knew that Ysilla liked the peace and quiet they got on days like these. Weekends were usually filled with work for college and so weekends where they could go to these stream pools were rare. The Weeping Water’s current was slow here and the river was deeper than average. That made it perfect for swimming, though neither of them had swam here for a while. The east coast of the north had always had the largest population in the region, ironically due to volcanic activity. Both the Lonely Hills and the Sheepshead Hills had volcanic activity in the past as did the Vale while Skagos and Storrold's Point were still home to active volcanoes. As the Weeping Water ran to the sea from its source in the Lonely Hills it gradually slowed as the terrain leveled out. Midway to the sea however it had to pass the ridge formed by the Baleful Downs, a geological extension of the Sheepshead hills which the Weeping Water passed through at the Frozen Fords. In the downs which consisted of Basalt the river slowed and here, just south of them, the basalt of the Baleful Downs gave way to the sandstone of the coast which, once the river was slowed by the craggy basalt boulders, was carved out into deep pools, one of which the couple was now at. The previous owners of this cabin had made a beach alongside this pool which they were currently sitting at.

“Well,” Domeric smiled as he reeled in his fishing line. Ysilla bent the top corner of the page she was on then placed the book on her lap, “Myranda doesn’t understand what I see in you.” 

“Well to be fair, I don’t really know what you see in me either.” Ysilla looked at him as if he had struck her. “You jerk!!” He laughed as she smacked his arm and pushed him in his chair. Domeric didn’t personally think that Myranda had any right to judge anyone’s relationships, let alone theirs and he told her as much while he recast his line. “She just thinks I could do better than you.” Domeric personally thought she probably could, though she had long ago chosen him, years ago she had chosen him which is why he had a rather expensive black cube in his tackle box, hopefully not damaged by the hooks and lures therein. He had to say something, well strictly speaking he didn’t, though he should, if only not to give up the game. “Myranda certainly doesn’t have the right to criticize anyone about their choice of partners, seeing as she is married to the ancient millionaire Eon Hunter, pregnant with his son Harlan’s child and all to acquire money.”

“My Domeric, always blunt, almost to the point of cruelty, how I love you.” Domeric turned his back to her and opened his tackle box and retrieved the ring in it’s box. Ysilla had stood up to see what he was doing. He turned and knelt, though internally it hurt his spirit to kneel before her as it broke one promise to his mother while somehow fulfilling another. Ysilla gasped as he did so, probably due to what he was doing though he also knew that she understood what kneeling meant to him, breaking a promise he made to his mother upon her deathbed.

“Ysilla Royce, would you marry me?”

She squealed as she shouted, jumping up and down on the spot between yeses. He placed the ring on her finger and kissed her lips only to hear his fishing line being dragged out, deeper into the river. He pulled away from her, grabbing the rod and fighting the fish back into his arms. _ “That is a hell of a trout!!!”  _

* * *

_ After The Collapse  _

Domeric screamed into the empty air, this uncaring universe which had taken everything he loved. He cradled the head of Ysilla Bolton, the woman he loved, the woman he married, **The** woman who **Chose** him. Taken, **_Taken_** by that **Bastard** , the one who had killed his father, killed his wife. Domeric had taken pride in the butcher of Ramsay’s little gang, though that bastard was standing just a few feet away basking in his victory, the destruction of his family. “Now you know, eh Dom? Know you know how I felt when my mother died and Roose did nothing!!! I am a true Bolton!” 

“No, Ramsay, you are not a Bolton, you are a monster and a bastard, a rapist and a murderer, a psychopath and a pedophile. I am going to kill you and when I have I will leave you to the crows.” A strange sense of calm had overcome him then, he had reached a point between rage and serenity and he was calm as Ramsay furiously lunged at him with a knife in his hand. He was still calm as he, almost instinctively, grabbed that hand and broke it with his left arm, yanking the knife from his half-brothers grasp as he turned. Efficiently, he sliced the knife across Ramsay’s throat as he finished the turn before embedding it in his right eye, tackling the bastard to the ground. Now he was angry, all the serenity had passed, leaving just the rage as he pulled the knife from the murderer’s socket, his brain was shocked as the eye came with it, though he wiped it off on Ramsay’s shoulder and then proceeded to keep stabbing him. Eventually, the rage subsided and he fell over from his haunched position over Ramsay’s corpse, only for his ass to land in a puddle. Right, it had been pouring rain the whole time. He picked himself up, walked over to Ysilla’s body, removed the ring he had gave her, and the necklace he had stolen because she liked it and put them in his pocket then, taking the crown of deep red roses he had woven together for her in his hand, walked over to a rock that he could sit on and cried, tears mixing with blood and mud and rainwater, shocked with grief, for the life they had tried to achieve, the children they planned to have, the future he knew he didn’t deserve but that she wanted with him anyway. He sat there and cried for Gods know how long, until Robb, Jon and Harry had found him.

* * *

_ Present  _

Domeric searched through his trunk, and found the necklace but at the bottom he found his violin and it’s bow. He had wanted to learn bass guitar (he had always been a bit of a metalhead) but his father wouldn’t let him so he ended up learning the violin instead. He remembers, after the miscarriage but before pneumonia took her life, his mother took him into White Harbour to buy him an electric violin. He played it first because it gave her joy, then later when he mourned for her and later still because Ysilla loved it. After her death he stopped playing, though he now realised he needed to play again. He needed to pick himself up, he needed to pick the group up. Taking the bow and the instrument out of the trunk, he strummed it and adjusted it until it was passably acceptable and opened the door of the bus, sat on the final step and started playing. Eventually he stood up and walked over to the group where he found they were swaying in their seats to the music.  _ I still got it! I still got it!!!  _

* * *

  
  


**The Tiger II**

  
  


Malaquo threw the letter written to him by Syrio Forel into the fire and the consequences be damned. “Storm’s End, why would she go towards Storm’s End?” He mumbled. His daughter had always been proud and in his opinion, damn conceited at times but he never thought she was stupid. As the father glanced around the room in disappointment he noticed the second letter Qavo had brought in. He noticed that it had been written by the Acting President of The Republic of The North: Arnolf Karstark. It took everything he had to resist kicking the table over in his frustration. Those fucking anarchists that follow Mance Rayder had seized control of most of the Republic and declared the Commune of The Gift. Malaquo would never admit it, even on pain of death, but he had dreaded that rabble of Mance's, the barbarian peasants that they were. He had been kept up at night with visions of their checkered red and black flags. He had fought people’s wars against upstart ghiscari and he had walked away from those wars with a healthy respect for revolutionary armies and he was having enough problems with the northmen as is, the absolute last thing he needed was another enemy. If he moved his forces north to assist his “ally” he could nip the revolution in the bud and possibly avoid a two front war though until they had achieved victory his lines facing the Ryswell's would be severely weakened, increasing the possibility of a collapse of his own lines. 

Malaquo decided to gamble, and send a third of his forces north.


End file.
